


Considered

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [26]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fic of Fic, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Jack's delectable this early in the morning, but he's also late for work. What's an honorable lady to do? Well, it's PFF, so the answer is obvious...





	Considered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polstar2505](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polstar2505/gifts), [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).



> It's technically Friday, so have some early posting. Aren't you all lucky... :-P
> 
> So, polstar2505's ficathon fic [A day in the kitchen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820869) had a moment in it that I just could not get out of my head, and I had to (with permission) fic it:  
>  _The inspector is getting a little less restrained, more comfortable, here at Wardlow, which is not to say he would not be mortified if he’d known I’d seen him pressing Miss Fisher against the stairway wall the other day, her leg hooked around his and a glimpse of bare skin where he was running his hand up her thigh._  
>  Wowzers.
> 
> So many thanks to polstar2505 for the image, and to deedeeinfj for the prompt that inspired the original fic (and this one, just a little), and hopefully this is a delightful PFF addition rather than a confusion. ♥

Phryne enjoyed sex, but she was not—despite what the rumours said—entirely incapable of restraint if the situation called for it. Sexual gratification was only one of any number of considerations in her life, from luxury to justice and all sorts of things in between. She had even, on occasion, been known to decline the erotic pleasures for more mundane pursuits simply because she felt like it.

In short, Phryne Fisher had priorities outside of the orgasmic.

The problem, however, was that her nobler intentions flew right out the window when Jack Robinson was making a valiant attempt to sneak out of her bedroom at some unseemly hour; the expanse of his naked back, his arse, his legs… well, it would make any woman of the right persuasion positively _salivate_.

The other problem was that he was already late for work.

Oh, she could quite easily lure him back to bed—he’d grumble and pretend to begrudgingly concede, stretching across her body to tease her with kisses, touch her with the surety of a man who was wide awake and familiar with her body—but she did, in fact, appreciate that it was a luxury he could ill-afford given his position. No, she’d just have to stay still and admire the view. But surely it wouldn’t matter if she, perhaps, indulged in a _singular_ exploration of the erotic. Her fingers were no match for his in size, but they certainly knew her body intimately, and the blankets were delightfully thick and would obscure any movements that could alert him to her actions.

No, she decided as she watched the muscles moving beneath his skin as he dressed, he would never need to know.

———

He knew.

She’d tried to be subtle about it, but he’d spent the last few months learning every sigh and moan and catch in her breath and he could hardly mistake the rustle of bedclothes for anything else. The temptation to abandon his attempts to make his way to the station, to crawl back into bed to see what other sounds he could draw from her, was immense, but as he rather liked his job he decided against it.

This, it seemed, was a tactical error, because he spent most of the morning trying very hard not to think about the impish curl in her lip if he’d turned to watch her, the flush across her cheeks and the parting of her mouth, the way she’d taste and smell if he’d given in and buried his face between her thighs. Thinking of the warm, wet heat and that throaty little laugh when he brushed a ticklish spot. The way she always nuzzled his ear when she told him she loved him.

No, going to work had been a very bad idea.

By lunchtime, he was ready to wave the white flag, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it. Grabbing a report on their latest investigation, he told the constable at the desk he was heading for lunch and quickly drove to Wardlow and headed up the path. To his surprise, she answered the door herself, delight spreading across her face when she saw him.

“Jack!”

“Miss Fisher,” he said, inclining his head. “May I come in?”

She rolled her eyes and gave a small smile, then stepped aside.

“Is that the autopsy report?” she asked as she shut the door.

“Uh, yes,” he said, awkwardly shifting it to his other hand as he removed his hat and hung it on the peg. It was utterly ridiculous to fumble like this, but it was also remarkably awkward to explain why he’d come; somehow proposing a quick shag had seemed a much better idea before he was standing in her front hall while she snatched the file from him to peruse.

“You’re watching me,” she observed, not looking up from the report.

“The way you watched me this morning?”

That did surprise her; she glanced up, something akin to a blush spreading across her cheeks. She tilted her chin up and set her jaw, unwilling to confess.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

Her inability to lie with any conviction was as endearing as it was befuddling. He stepped closer, gently taking back the file and setting it next to the telephone, and placed a hand on her hip. Searched her eyes and found nothing but curiosity and desire. Bent his head to kiss along her neck, smiling as she laced her fingers through his hair and sighed in contentment. Chuckled when she spun them, laughed at her gasp of surprise when he pushed her against the wall

“Are you sure you don’t know what I’m talking about?” he whispered against her ear, feeling her shiver against him.

“Keep doing that, Jack, and I won’t know a blessed thing,” she sighed, hooking a leg over his and kissing him softly.

His hand slowly slid up her leg—the silk of stockings and then the warmth of flesh against his fingers; he moved higher, beneath her skirt, beneath her lingerie, teasing her clit until her knees buckled. She scratched at his back in return, bit his lip. Growled when he pulled his hand away.

“I have to get back to the station,” he said, with absolutely no intent behind it.

She gripped the lapels of the suit and began to tug him towards the stairs.

“Sod the station,” she said, kissing him again. “There’s a pressing investigation a little closer to home.”

———

Phryne had to admit that she was surprised by Jack’s arrival, though certainly not disappointed by the development. She’d been trying to lead his astray during working hours for weeks, if not _months_. And in the end he’d come to her with information on their case and a look in his eyes that was positively famished; how could she be anything but thrilled?

Only, now they were done and she was watching him dress as quickly as possible for the second time that day and quite frankly it wasn’t fair. She’d gotten accustomed to having him in her bed in the aftermath, when he was at ease and indolent and utterly beautiful, but alas, crime didn’t sleep and neither did detective inspectors. Really, it was damned inconvenient. Still, it couldn’t be helped, and as least she could bid him farewell this time.

He turned, surprised, when she slipped from the bed and began to redress, but wisely said nothing. Pulling on the bare minimum to be acceptable and then wrapping a robe around her, she escorted him down the stairs and to the front door.

“I’ll bring the report to the station once I’ve had a bath,” she said, plucking his hat from the peg and placing it just-so on his head; his smile was soft and her stomach flipped at the sight of it. “I presume you’ll be interviewing the brother again before I get there?”

He gave a small nod but didn’t speak, his gaze saying everything she needed to know.

“Be careful?”

An amused twist of his lips. “I’m always careful, Miss Fisher.”

She straightened his tie, smoothed his lapels, allowed her hand to linger over his heartbeat.

“I know,” she said, “but I still like to say it.”


End file.
